Desert Dust Part 32

"Certainly. We are speaking of shooting now, and not at a tin can. You have to allow for the jump of the muzzle. Unless you hold it down with your wrist, you over shoot; and it's the first shot that counts. Of course, there's a feel, a knack. But don't aim with your eyes. You won't have time. Men file off the front sight--it sometimes catches, in the draw. And it's useless, anyway. They fire as they point with the finger, by the feel. You see, they _know_."

"Evidently you do, too, madam," I faltered, amazed.

"Not all," she panted. "But I've heard the talk; I've watched--I've seen many things, sir, from Omaha to Benton. Oh, I wish I could tell you more; I wish I could help you right away. I meant, a dead-shot with the revolver knows beforehand, in the draw, where his bullet shall go. Some men are born to shoot straight; some have to practice a long, long while. I wonder which you are."

"If there is pressing need in my case," said I, "I shall have to rely upon my friends to keep me from being done for."

"You?" she uttered, with a touch of asperity. "Oh, yes. Pish, sir!

Friends, I am learning, have their own hides to consider. And those gentlemen of yours are Gentiles with goods for Salt Lake Mormons. Are they going to throw all business to the winds?"

"You yourself may appeal to his father, and to the women, for protection if that lout annoys you," I ventured.

"To them?" she scoffed. "To Hyrum Adams' outfit? Why, they're Mormons and good Mormons, and why should I not be made over? I'm under their teachings; I am Edna, already; it's time Daniel had a wife--or two, for replenishing Utah. Rachael calls me 'sister,' and I can't resent it. Good at heart as she is, even she is convinced. Why," and she laughed mirthlessly, "I may be sealed to Hyrum himself, if nothing worse is in store. Then I'll be a.s.sured of a seat with the saints."

"You can depend upon me, then. I'll protect you, I'll fight for you, and I'll kill for you," I was on the point of roundly declaring; but didn't.

Her kind, I remembered, had spelled ruin upon the pages of men more experienced than I. Therefore out of that super-caution born of Benton, I stupidly said nothing.

She had paused, expectant. She resumed.

"But no matter. Here I am, and here you are. We were speaking of shooting.

This is a lesson in shooting, not in marrying, isn't it? As to the pressing need, you must decide. You've seen and heard enough for that. I like you, sir; I respect your spirit and I'm sorry I led you into misadventure. Now if I may lend you a little something to keep you from being shot like a dog, I'll feel as though I had wiped out your score against me. Take your gun." I took it, the b.u.t.t warm from her clasp.

"There he is. Cover him!"

"Where?" I asked. "Who?"

"There, before you. Oh, anybody! Think of his heart and cover him. I want to see you hold."

I aimed, squinting.

"No, no! You'll not have time to close an eye; both eyes are none too many. And you are awkward; you are stiff." She readjusted my arm and fingers. "That's better. You see that little rock? Hit it. c.o.c.k your weapon, first. Hold firmly, not too long. There; I think you're going to hit it, but hold low, low, with the wrist. Now!"

I fired. The sand obscured the rock. She clapped her hands, delighted.

"You would have killed him. No--he would have killed you. Quick! Give it to me!"

And s.n.a.t.c.hing the revolver she c.o.c.ked, leveled and fired instantly. The rock split into fragments.

"I would have killed him," she murmured, gazing tense, seeing I knew not what. Wrenching from the vision she handed back the revolver to me. "I think you're going to do, sir. Only, you must learn to draw. I can tell you but I can't show you. The men will. You must draw swiftly, decisively, without a halt, and finger on trigger and thumb on hammer and be ready to shoot when the muzzle clears the scabbard. It's a trick."

"Like this?" I queried, trying.

"Partly. But it's not a sword you're drawing; it's a gun. You may draw laughing, if you wish to dissemble for a sudden drop; they do, when they have iron in their heart and the bullet already on its way, in their mind.

I mustn't stay longer. Shall we go to the fire now? I am cold." She shivered. "Daniel is waiting. And when you've delivered me safe you'd better leave me, please."

"Why so?"

She smiled, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Quien sabe? To avoid a scene, perhaps; perhaps, to postpone. I have an idea that it is better so. You've baited Daniel far enough for to-night."

We walked almost without speaking, to the Hyrum Adams fire. Daniel lifted upper lip at me as we entered; his eyes never wandered from my face. I marked his right hand quivering stiffly; and I disregarded him. For if I had challenged him by so much as an overt glance he would have burst bonds.

Rachael's eyes, the older woman's eyes, the eyes of all, men and women, curious, admonitory, hostile and apprehensive, hot and cold together--these I felt also amidst the dusk. I was distinctly unwelcome.

Accordingly I said a civil "Good-evening" to Hyrum (whose response out of compressed lips was scarce more than a grunt) and raising my hat to My Lady turned my back upon them, for my own bailiwick.

The other men were waiting en route.

"Didn't kill ye, did he?"

"No."

"Wall," said one, "if you can swing a rattler by the tail, all right. But watch his haid."

Friend Jenks paced on with me to our fire.

"We were keepin' cases on you, and so was he. He saw that practice--d.a.m.n, how he did crane! She was givin' you pointers, eh?"

"Yes; she wanted amus.e.m.e.nt."

"It'll set Bonnie Bravo to thinkin'--it'll sh.o.r.ely set him to thinkin',"

Jenks chuckled, mouthing his pipe. "She's a smart one." He comfortably rocked to and fro as we sat by the fire. "h.e.l.l! Wall, if you got to kill him you got to kill him and do it proper. For if you don't kill him he'll kill you; snuff you out like a--wall, you saw that can travel."

"I don't want to kill him," I pleaded. "Why should I?"

Jenks sat silent; and sitting silent I foresaw that kill Daniel I must. I was being sucked into it, irrevocably willed by him, by her, by them all.

If I did not kill him in defense of myself I should kill him in defense of her. Yet why I had to, I wondered; but when I had bought my ticket for Benton I had started the sequence, to this result. Here I was. As she had said, here I was, and here she was. I might not kill for love--no, not that; I was going to kill for hate. And while I never had killed a man, and in my heart of hearts did not wish to kill a man, since I had to kill one, named Daniel, even though he was a bully, a braggart and an infernal over-stepper it was pleasanter to think that I should kill him in hot blood rather than in cold.

Jenks spat, and yawned.

"I can l'arn you a few things; all the boys'll help you out," he proffered, "When you git him you'll have to git him quick; for if you don't--adios. But we'll groom ye."

Could this really be I? Frank Beeson, not a fortnight ago still living at jog-trot in dear Albany, New York State? It was puzzling how detached and how strong I felt.

CHAPTER XV

THE TRAIL NARROWS

Again we broke camp. We rolled down from the plateau into that wizard basin lying all beautiful and slumberous and spell-locked like some land of heart's desire. We replenished our water casks from the tank cars, we swapped for a little feed, we occasionally exchanged greetings with contractor outfits, and with grading crews. In due time we pa.s.sed end o'

track, where a bevy of sweated men were moiling like mad, clanging down the rails upon the hasty ties and ever calling for more, more. I witnessed little General "Jack" Cas.e.m.e.nt of Ohio--a small man with full russet beard and imperative bold blue eyes--teetering and tugging at his whiskers and rampantly swearing while he drove the work forward. And we left end o'

track, vainly reaching out after us, until the ring of the rails and the staccato of the rapid sledges faded upon our ears.

Now we were following the long line of bare grade, upturned reddish by the plows and sc.r.a.pers and picks and shovels; sometimes elevated, for contour, sometimes merged with the desert itself. There the navvies digged and delved, scarcely taking time to glance at us. And day by day we plodded in the interminable clouds of desert dust raised by the supply wagons.

Captain Hyrum fought shy of their camps. The laborers were mainly Irish, trans-shipped from steerage, dock, and Bowery, and imported from Western mining centers; turbulent in their relaxations and plentifully supplied with whiskey: companies, they, not at all to the Mormon mind. Consequently we halted apart from them--and well so, for those were womanless camps and the daily stint bred strong appet.i.tes.